


New Conditions

by AssistedRealityInterface



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Parental Abuse, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8767567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssistedRealityInterface/pseuds/AssistedRealityInterface
Summary: Hartley got disowned for being queer six months ago. He's still trying to work out the decades of abuse that preceded all of that. Cisco helps, and heals.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you asked me why I continued to throw Hartley into situations like this I wouldn't have an answer; he's just got a lot going on that the show won't address? Especially regarding parents who must have been so homophobic they were willing to disown their only son? Like?   
> What matters is, despite everything, his relationship with Cisco can be good and pure, as well as sexual and explicitly queer. I'm surprised whenever people don't see things like that; that's just normal life to me. Maybe that's the real reason I write this stuff.  
> (Also: sidenote, there's a little explicit talk but nothing actively sexual in this fic!)

Cisco’s hair was a dumb, ugly, messy, soft and silky, rich, dark, sweet-smelling _disaster_ as far as Hartley Rathaway was concerned. And his face was stupid besides. Especially when he pursed his plump, pretty lips together and knit his brows in deep thought, fingers fidgeting eagerly and tucking his beautiful, sinful, horrible evil temptress hair back behind his ear as he tried to solve a problem or come up with a bitchy comeback that would burn and simmer in Hartley’s belly for _days._

Hartley had been handling the newest member of the particle accelerator team well. So well that Cisco had sucked on two lollipops today—grape and cherry, Hartley had checked the wrappers—and he had only bitten through _one_ pen. (He could still taste the ink on his teeth.)

He tapped his tongue against the ink seeping into his gums and watched Cisco work, completely clandestine and utterly unnoticeable. Every so often, he would stop and pluck at his hair like a harp-string, tucking it behind his ear when he leaned over to look at something, or when he wanted to fidget in between equations. Hartley watched the motion over and over every time it happened, replaying it in his head, hypnotized.

“Hey,” Cisco said, lifting his head and looking at Hartley. “Do you need something, or are you just here to scoff?”

“I didn’t think you’d start using words like scoff so quickly,” Hartley snorted. “Perhaps I’m doing you more good than you’d like to admit.”

Cisco made a face and lifted his head. To Hartley’s quiet horror, he did it _again_ ; he lifted his slender, soft fingers up to his ear, tucking his thick dark locks behind it. “What do you want?”

“I,” Hartley paused. Cisco raised his eyebrows. Hartley took a deep breath. “It’s. Nothing. Continue on with your work. I’ll be triple-checking it tonight.”

“Oh my god, dude,” Cisco sighed, picking up a blue pencil and adding details to his specs, doodling in the margins of his graph paper when Hartley looked away.

Hartley sat down at his desk, trying not to look at Cisco’s, which was already strewn with wrappers and action figures and figurines and little stuffed dolls. One of the tiny plastic ponies had reclaimed a Chinese takeout box as her kingdom. His mouth still tasted like ink as he swallowed around a tight knot in his throat.

His desk was, of course, the pinnacle of neat and clean; no mess, no wrappers, no takeout, no pictures, no taped post it notes with encouragement scribbled on them, no stickers, no nothing. Nothing at all. It was empty. It was perfect.

Hartley picked up his newest pen and went back to work. He didn’t look up again until someone lobbed a paper ball at his head and he jerked it up, bristling.

“Hey, don’t look at me, you’re the idiot who stayed until eight,” Cisco said. Hartley stared back.

“Aren’t you _also_ here?” he said.

“Uh, I’m like, ready to go, Captain Genius,” Cisco said, rolling his eyes and shrugging. The movement made his hair fall around his face, and he tucked a strand behind his ear for the twenty-sixth time that day. Hartley’s heart trilled like someone had rolled it in popping candy. “You’re the one who’s sitting here like you’d stay ‘til ten if I didn’t tell you to go home.”

“And are you?” Hartley said. “Telling me to go home?”

“I mean, I can’t imagine a guy like you has a lot of friends to go out and hang with after work, so,” Cisco shrugged, grabbing his jacket and leaving the lab. Hartley watched him leave. His heart fizzled out, his guts thick and soupy with regret.

“Well,” he said to the empty lab, “I guess I don’t.”

…

Hartley went back to his apartment and unlocked his door. The place was quiet and small and devoid of life, which was fine by him. It still smelled like a liminal space; thin and fragile, not quite musty and not quite lived in, either. Nothing he did, down to occupying the place with his physical presence, had left any kind of mark.

He still remembered his mother’s perfume, he thought as he opened his fridge and picked out dinner, slicing up onions and carrots to throw into a stir-fry with leftover steak, and how it had permeated the whole house. When his room had stopped smelling like it as a child he’d stolen her pearls, their porous surfaces soaked in her scent, and hid them under his pillows so the smell would linger, the cool beads rolling over his fingers as he breathed her in.

She never actually went looking for the pearls, but ordered new ones a few weeks later. Hartley still had all the necklaces he’d collected as a child, piled up in a small, plain box on his nightstand. They didn’t smell like her anymore. He couldn’t recall the smell, either, nor the smell of his father’s aftershave that dripped in the bathroom or the clean, crisp smell of linen and heavy, rich fabrics, weathered parchment and old oil paintings that made up what he remembered of his family home.

Hartley threw a lid on the stir fry, set it to simmer, and stalked out of his apartment, storming down to the nearest convenience store and standing next to the rack of its cheap ‘gourmet’ lollipops, grabbing every cherry, grape, root beer float, and cream-flavored one he could find, paying for them quickly before the salesgirl could ask why one man wanted over a dozen lollipops, hiking back up to his apartment and unwrapping the first one he grabbed, shoving it in his mouth and sucking, hard, resisting the urge to bite down immediately.

He pulled away from the candy with a wet pop. He could still smell it on his lips, his teeth; cheap grape flavoring, a sugary medicinal stench that made him shiver in pleasure nonetheless. Lollipop in mouth, he reached up to stroke phantom hair behind his ear as he leaned over the stir-fry and considered, for just a brief second, that he might have a problem.

The smell didn’t linger, but it didn’t matter. The taste was enough, for a time, and Hartley littered his kitchen counter with wrappers that night, trying to recreate something without any specifics in mind until the next morning, when he came in and walked past Cisco’s desk, covered in those same wrappers.

“Fuck,” Hartley said, short and succinct, and threw his bag on his chair before deciding he needed to clear his head for a little bit. By the time he got back, Cisco was sitting in his chair, swiveling around and around, humming tunelessly.

“Don’t you have work you could be doing?” Hartley snapped. Cisco shrugged.

“Don’t _you_?”

Hartley turned on his heel and went into Harrison’s office. Cisco rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on his desk. His mind was ricocheting today, and he’d forgotten to take his medication like a fucking _idiot,_ so now he was stuck until tomorrow, facing a whole day of halved brain activity.

He started to wind his hair around his fingers and pull before cringing in pain and pulling it up into a hasty bun. If he picked at it like he wanted, he’d pull half his hair out before getting any work done today—not like _Hartley_ had to know about that.

Cisco managed a herculean two hours of work before his brain just sat down in his skull and shrugged, giving up. There was no better way of saying it; he’d read the same project summary six times and couldn’t recall any of it for the life of him. He shoved all his papers aside and looked at his desk, considering.

Hartley finally left the sanctuary of Harrison’s office, only to find Cisco re-arranging his figures. He scoffed in disgust watching Cisco fidget, twisting one of his toy’s heads into the proper position. “Is the job going to your head, Francisco?”

Cisco turned around and gave him such a filthy look it made Hartley flinch, biting hard at his cheek. The blood in his mouth didn’t matter half so much as the contempt gathering on Cisco’s lips like foam, spit alongside his snappy retort, “You know, not everyone has the luxury of getting to hide in Harrison’s office all day like a brat, Hartley.”

“At least I accomplished something in there,” Hartley replied, lowering his voice and forcing it to stay level. The image of his mother speaking to her assistants lurked in his brain and bloomed in his throat. “You’re out here playing with toys, and _I’m_ the bratty child?”

Cisco’s cheeks were mottled, his face tight with anger, his shoulders stiff. “Look, it must be super great to be able to _focus_ , but if you—could just— _leave—“_

“This is my workspace too, surely I—“

Hartley took a step forward and Cisco shoved at his desk, slamming his hands into the lip of it. Hartley froze, his chest hot with panic.

“Too much,” Cisco mumbled, grasping at the desk. “Too much. Leave me. Alone. You have to. Go now you have to _go—“_

“Oh my god,” Hartley said, “what’s—Cisco? What is going _on—“_

“ _Leave,”_ Cisco shouted, covering his face with his hands.

Hartley took a step back, then two. He closed a door behind him, stood still as he could manage, and waited.

It took Cisco ten minutes before he lifted his head, pulling his hair out of its bun with trembling fingers and hiding his face in it.

“You didn’t leave.”

“Uh, no,” Hartley said. “I also work here, Francisco.”

“Not what I meant,” Cisco said. “Go ahead. Aren’t you going to laugh? Because I looked so stupid? And dumb. And bad. Some dumb autistic kid who can’t focus can’t control himself some _retard_ who—who just— _bad_ —“

Hartley took a step forward, then another. Cisco took a deep breath and swallowed, hard. Hartley stood next to him at his desk, taking in the sight of his slumped, trembling shoulders, quivering as he tried to stop sobbing, silent, shaky tears sliding down his face.

“You know,” Hartley said. “You can stop crying. I don’t actually think you’re stupid.”

Cisco sniffled. “You think I’m crying because of _you?”_

“Oh,” Hartley said. “Right. Well. Then. I suppose you’re all right to cry, though now I don’t know why you’re crying. But everyone else will be here soon, and.”

He trailed off. Cisco stayed still. The desk underneath him glimmered, wet.

“There’s really,” Hartley said, “no need to cry.”

He reached down and stroked Cisco’s hair back behind his ear, tucking it into place. “Go wash your face with cold water. It’ll help.”

Cisco stared at him. Hartley stared back. It took a second for his brain to remind his body, _those are your fingers in Cisco’s hair, idiot._

Hartley jerked his hand back so fast his shoulder strained in protest and he bolted, flying out of the room and disappearing. Cisco reached up and ran his fingers through the lock of hair Hartley had tucked behind his ear, blinking.

“Okay,” he said, “what the hell.”

…

Hartley texted Harrison that he was going to be working from home today due to issues with documents he didn’t have on hand in the office, drove back home, climbed the stairs to his apartment, threw all his stuff on the floor, put his pajamas on, curled up in his bed, and cried.

He hadn’t cried since two days after his father had thrown him out. He’d counted down the seconds until his breakdown carefully, calmly, trying to plan for it, until he’d seen a handsome man on the street and made eye contact. The man had smiled at him, big, broad and genuine, and it had sent a wave of self-loathing over his soul that drowned him. Hartley had barely managed to make it back home before sobbing, slumped against his front door, digging his short nails into his skin and shivering, weeping, his tears hot with frustration and hatred.

Disgusting. Disgusting, disgusting and bad. He thought of Cisco with a lollipop in his mouth and his stomach curdled, digging his fingers into his soft skin deeper. Filthy thing to think about. Nasty little pervert thinking of Cisco’s soft lips or dark doe eyes, deep and warm like loam, digging his fingers into the dirt, filthy dirty muddy animal, wretched deviant little _pervert—_

Hartley sobbed, a little, choking hiccup of breath rubbing his throat raw. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. His arms throbbed in protest where his nails had dug in deep.

Cisco was so soft and warm. When he’d touched him, his hair had been so silky-smooth and good, and it hadn’t smelled like his mother’s perfume, but _better._ Warmer, brighter, richer. Did it always smell like that? Was that something he could keep for always?

_What a nasty little thing to think about, Hartley. It’s another man’s hair, you sniveling little queer. You think he’d want you? Some creeping, wretched thing who has such warped, filthy thoughts? Pervert. Pervert. Pervert._

His stomach hurt. He was so bad. He knew he was so bad. He was so smart and he knew it because everyone else he had known who was smart and family and right all the time said he was bad and filthy and sinful. Dirty little pervert, fingers touching Cisco’s hair, wanting more, greedy wretched _animal—_

Hartley buried his face in his arms and took a deep breath.

_It’s true though, isn’t it? You’ve spent the last three weeks finding all the dirty little films your desperate pervert heart wants with pretty boys who have soft, dark hair and someone to tuck it back for them while you think dirty thoughts and make yourself disgusting. That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. You’d do that to him? You’d make him dirty too?_

“No,” Hartley said, biting his lip. “No. No no no.”

He laid in bed a long while. Didn’t know how long. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to move. And if he got up again, it was going to be to walk outside and find some quiet corner he could step out into traffic.

He entertained the thought for a little while, soothing himself with a suicide plan, composing a note in his head. Couldn’t tell Cisco, of course, but—

His brain backslid at the thought of Cisco, flashes of need and want sparking in his belly and brain, his hands in Cisco’s hair, on his neck and shoulders, chest, stroking his sides and lower, lower—

Hartley whimpered. He tried to shut his mind off and clenched his fingers into fists, digging into his palms. His whimpers were the only sound in the apartment for a long time, until he lifted his head to listen to a banging at the door.

He got up, threw a robe on, and splashed cold water on his face, pressing pools of cold water over his eyes and drying the rivers that ran down his cheeks before storming out and opening the door to—

“Hi,” Cisco said, bag of takeout in his hand. “I asked Doctor Wells if I could have your address. I feel like maybe he shouldn’t have given it to me, but you were…you looked…before, I mean, I figured if you didn’t want me here you could just slam the door in my face and I’d like, leave? And stop talking? Please tell me to stop talking, I—“

“Come in,” Hartley said, years of training smoothing over his concern and the aching, rippling fear in his gut, holding the door for Cisco like this was just another one of his parent’s dinner parties and he was the shining, pretty scion instead of an awful pervert trapping someone soft and innocent in his house. “You’re looking better.”

“Well, I can’t, like, take my Adderall today, ‘cause I fucked up and forgot, but I went back home on my lunch break and took all my other medication, so I do feel a bit better,” Cisco admitted. “Also, I figured. I mean. I dunno.”

He gestured. “This is really weird, because I was just insulting you, like, yesterday, and now I’m at your house with takeout.”

“Do you want to leave?” Hartley said.

There was a pause. Cisco furrowed his brow and pursed his lips again, reaching up to fidget with his hair. Hartley’s heart ached.

“Um,” he said. “No. Not really.”

“Then it’s settled,” Hartley said. “Have a seat.”

“You live alone, why do you have a dining table?” Cisco asked, raising his eyebrows and putting the bag of food down.

“You’re so sure I live alone?”

“Well, dude, this place looks so…empty,” Cisco said. “You should decorate it. Do you want any of my posters or something? Just to make things a little less blah in here?”

Hartley cracked a smile he immediately hid behind his hand. “You’re giving me decorating tips now?”

“No, it’s just,” Cisco hedged, “sad? You should…have stuff.”

“I do,” Hartley said. “It’s just at home, with my parents.”

Cisco nodded. “Oh. Right.”

Hartley took a seat across from him and undid the flaps on the takeout boxes. Cisco folded his legs up on his chair, fiddling with his chopsticks and making them click. They ate in silence for a little while. Hartley couldn’t make eye contact.

“I asked Caitlin,” Cisco said, breaking the silence, “about your parents. And um.”

He put his chopsticks in his noodles, not making eye contact. Hartley didn’t push. “Mine don’t…call me by the right name. And I don’t think they ever will. And it’s weird. Because they say they love me, and then they call me a bad name. But you act like you _hate_ me, and you…you use my right name.”

“I don’t,” Hartley forced out, “hate you.”

Cisco blinked.

“Don’t you,” Hartley said, his voice shivering, “hate me?”

“Because you’re a snobby stuck-up prissy guy who always rains on my parade? Uh, well, I did some soul-searching today after you left and I—“

“ _No,”_ Hartley said, cutting him off, “because I’m a gross, evil pervert. Because you’re. So pretty. And I—I’m going to poison you. I think of bad things and I want to do bad things to you.”

“I mean, if I just walked into your plot to murder me, yeah, that’d suck,” Cisco said. “You want to murder me or something, dude?”

“I want,” Hartley said, his face hot, his eyes burning, his heart screaming, screaming, screaming, at a fever pitch that sounded like his mother’s voice when she’d been so mad—“I want to kiss you.”

Cisco stared. His hand flexed on the table and his eyebrows rose, slowly, as his heart started to pound harder.

“I’m so gross,” Hartley said to his hands, blinking hard. “It’s disgusting. I invited you in and you must think I’m some awful pervert keeping you trapped here against your will so I can h-hurt you, and—and. I’m a sin. You’re so good. How can I even look at you when you’re so good and I? I?”

There was another silence. Uncrossing his legs, Cisco got out of his chair, crossed the room, and knelt in front of Hartley, taking his glasses off.

“You can, though,” Cisco said. “You absolutely can.”

“Kiss you?” Hartley repeated, blinking. “I can’t. It’s bad. I shouldn’t want it. I shouldn’t touch you. I—“

Cisco grasped Hartley’s shaking hand and lifted it up, cupping it against his cheek. Hartley’s trembling fingers shifted, reaching out, tucking Cisco’s hair behind his ear.

“Oh,” he breathed, his voice tiny, his body shifting, shaking, falling onto the floor as he knelt across from Cisco and kissed him. It was a shivering little peck, a fairy kiss that lingered light as air for just a second, flittering away on the breeze of Hartley’s breath as he broke away, holding his hand over his mouth.

There was a silence before Cisco grinned. “That all you got?”

“What?”

“I said,” Cisco repeated, “that all you got, or you gonna kiss me again?”

Hartley reached up, cupped Cisco’s cheeks, and held him steady, bringing his mouth to Cisco’s lips and pressing against them, shuddering in pleasure when they yielded, plush velvet, sweet and warm and slightly sticky with leftover lollipop sugar.

Hartley pulled away and took a deep breath. Cisco touched his lips, considering, before raising his eyebrows. “Romantic. But I was thinking a little more along the lines of—“

Hartley gasped as Cisco grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him so hard they both tumbled, Hartley’s back hitting the floor and Cisco climbing all over him, kissing him and biting at Hartley’s lower lip, sucking at the swollen skin and sliding his tongue inside Hartley’s mouth when he moaned, panting, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh,” Hartley said when Cisco lifted his mouth away, his voice breaking, “oh, oh. Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Cisco hummed. “You’re a lot nicer when you’re nervous, you know.”

“I—I—“ Hartley swallowed. “I can’t—breathe—“

Cisco climbed off of him immediately, letting him sit up, hugging himself tight. He didn’t push as Hartley forced his breathing to slow, his shoulders relaxing. His eyes were wide when he looked up at Cisco, blinking, swallowing hard.

“You, you wanted that?” Hartley asked. “You wanted. That? You wanted to kiss me? I didn’t make you. I didn’t do anything bad to you so you’d kiss me?”

“I _wanted_ to kiss you,” Cisco said, coming closer, inch by inch, until he was back in Hartley’s lap, straddling his thighs. “I wanted to kiss you so bad, even when you had that big dumb smirk on your face in the office in the mornings when Wells came in and you said something that made him laugh? I wanted to kiss you all the time, even when I was kinda annoyed with you? I want to kiss you right now. You _did_ make me want to do that, Hartley, but it’s not a bad thing.”

“It is,” Hartley said. “It is. It is. I’m a—a p-pervert. I thought of you—I thought of you all the time and I—“

“What?” Cisco said, running a hand through Hartley’s hair. “What did you think of, when you thought of me?”

Hartley’s chest hurt, and his eyelids were so heavy it took all his strength just to blink. “I thought of, of kissing you, and touching—touching your hair, and holding it in my fist when I—I—“

He gagged on the words, choking them down. Cisco moaned, a shuddering, shivery thing, hugging himself. “Oh my god. Please, _please_ don’t just stop there. What did you do, Hart? When you held my hair in your fist, what did you do next?”

“I—I wanted—“ Hartley hid his face in his hands and forced out, “I wanted to push you up against a wall and open your legs up and—and get in between them and—and I wanted to—I wanted to _fuck_ you, so bad it _hurt_ it’s _bad_ I _hurt—“_

Cisco’s hands were on his in a second, pulling them away from Hartley’s wet cheeks. His vision was blurred without his glasses and with all the tears in his eyes, but he could see the fuzzy white glimmer of Cisco’s smile.

“Yeah,” Cisco said, holding Hartley’s wrists down and rubbing himself against Hartley’s lap, a slow brushing of his jeans along Hartley’s sweatpants. Hartley stiffened and Cisco shushed him. “You wanted to fuck me? Did you think about that at work? ‘Cause I did. I used to save a few lollipops just for when I knew you’d have some downtime so I could sit at my desk and suck on them where you could see—“

“ _Oh,”_ Hartley groaned, squirming under Cisco’s grip. “I—I—“

“You think I’m so good, right? So pretty and good and soft? You said so yourself,” Cisco said. He hadn’t stopped moving. Hartley could feel his cock, stiff and growing under his sweatpants, responding to the constant rasp of Cisco’s body against it. “If I’m so good and I wanted to push you down on my desk and ride you until my thighs gave out, then who’s the bad one here? Not you, right?”

“No,” Hartley shivered, shaking his head, “no, but—“

“No buts,” Cisco said, firm. “Do you think I’m a pervert for wanting to have sex with you?”

“I made you like this,” Hartley babbled, “I’m bad and evil and awful and I’m going to corrupt everything I touch so I _had_ to go I had to, I was a _cancer_ —“

“Dude,” Cisco said, “no offense, but you’re not the axis of my boner. I promise I definitely wanted to fuck you without you using some sort of weirdo evil gay mind control powers or whatever the fuck your dad thinks you have.”

There was a beat. Hartley blinked. “Axis of your boner?”

“If you make fun of me for that metaphor, it’s transphobic,” Cisco said with a straight face.

It took them a second before they both started to laugh, Hartley’s chest heaving with the effort, forcing the rest of the tears from his eyes before Cisco leaned down and kissed at all of them until they were gone.

“Seriously,” Cisco said, “I want to fuck you completely of my own free will, but I’m not the sort of dude who gives it up on the first date, so let’s do dinner first and maybe play _Pokemon Stadium_ at my place and then we can consider, y’know. But I would totally let you bang me, and not because of your evil gay mind control or whatever.”

Hartley grinned, shaky and unsure. “You’re not taking this very seriously.”

“Oh, I am. Furious, I mean. Your parents made you hate yourself like that and they should die,” Cisco said, so simple and matter of fact Hartley knew he meant it. “But it’s all a bunch of stupid useless nonsense, and I refuse to take dumb ideas about you being a disgusting pervert for wanting to kiss me seriously.”

Cisco took a deep breath. His chest strained under his binder. “Because—because it’s not gross. To want to kiss me. Because I’m not. Gross.”

“No,” Hartley agreed, “you’re not.”

He sat up and pulled Cisco close, kissing him, soft and warm and careful. They remained like that for as long as they could, breaking apart to take soft, shallow breaths in between pecks, mouthing at one another’s lips. Cisco’s arms wound around to hold Hartley by the waist, scooting closer, sighing in pleasure.

“This is,” Hartley mumbled, “going to sound dumb. But. I know you don’t—want to have—but could you stay? Please? I just want to know I won’t hurt you if I touch you. That it’s not bad to—to want to fuck you, but—but to lie down next to you too, and just…stay there, either.”

“Sounds good,” Cisco hummed. “I didn’t bring any clothes though, so I’m gonna have to do the walk of shame into work tomorrow.”

“Oh, please, like Caitlin hasn’t worn the same outfit twice in a row a dozen times,” Hartley said. “Why should heteros get all the fun?”

Cisco laughed. “Yeah, okay! You’re not gonna try to make me wear one of your fussy grandma cardigans, though?”

“Well, do you _want_ to?” Hartley challenged. Cisco’s face flushed pink. Hartley grinned.

“You could,” he said. “It’d be nice. Your scent would stay on it after you wore it, and if you kept wearing it, I could just…breathe it in.”

He paused, drawing away. “Is that gross? I—“

Cisco kissed him on the mouth, hard, pressing his forehead against Hartley’s when he broke away. “Dude, no. I’ll wear your grandma cardigan, but you gotta wear one of my shirts.”

“Perish the thought,” Hartley said, but he was smiling. “Can I have my glasses back so I can clear the table?”

“Oh, sure, I’m gonna just go…uh, get ready to sleep?” Cisco said. “I mean. Crash in your bed. I mean…”

He kissed Hartley again. “Wow. I mean, let’s still totally go to dinner and do all that fluffy stuff. But this is still super cool, and I want to do it with you.”

“Okay,” Hartley said, his voice shaky. “Okay.”

Cisco handed him his glasses, adjusting them on the bridge of Hartley’s nose, pecking it for good measure, before getting up to find Hartley’s bedroom. Hartley laid on the floor for a few minutes, just staring up at the ceiling.

“He wants me,” he said, reaching up and flexing his hand out, splaying his fingers, his eyes just as wide with awe. “He wants me. He’s good, and beautiful, and perfect, and he wants me. And I’m not. Bad.”

He couldn’t _quite_ wrap his head around that last part. Not yet. Twenty-five years of being told otherwise did take its toll. Still. He could smell Cisco on his body even with him all the way back in bed, spicy-sweet and soft, like fresh, sweet bread and coffee, and his skin shivered and goose-pimpled with the memory of his touch.

Hartley put everything in Tupperware and shoved it in the fridge before standing at his bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

“Dude,” Cisco said through the door, “it’s your room.”

He pushed open the door to find Cisco with his shirt and binder off, stretching his arms above his head. Cisco blinked. “Hey. Sup?”

“Oh,” Hartley said. “You…”

“Sorry, should I, like,” Cisco gestured. “Is this bad?”

“I—“

Hartley swallowed, crossing the room and putting his hands on Cisco’s waist. Cisco shivered.

“Probably should’ve asked what the bedtime dress code was first,” he said. The joke fell flat under the pressure of Hartley’s gaze. He leaned in close and pecked Cisco’s forehead, careful, light and deliberate.

“Whatever would make you happy,” Hartley said. “I really do have to do a few things on my tablet for work, however. If you would like to just. Lay next to me, and. Whatever you want to do—I’d—“

“Sounds good,” Cisco said, climbing onto Hartley’s bed and flopping down. “Should I put on a shirt, though? For real.”

“No,” Hartley said. “Not unless you want to. I’d like to see you.”

Cisco grinned. “Okay, then.”

He wiggled out of his jeans until he was lounging around on Hartley’s bed in a pair of boxers and nothing else, kicking his legs up idly and watching Hartley fuss with his tablet, taking his DS out of his jeans pocket and playing _Pokemon X_.

It was quiet for a long while. Hartley finished sending emails, writing update reports, making notes on equations to plan a simulation to run on the accelerator for tomorrow. Cisco hatched some Eevee eggs looking for a shiny, encouraging horde encounters and looking for a shiny Nidoran as well, in between egg runs. Hartley glanced over his shoulder. “Is that fun?”

“It’s a good way to wind down,” Cisco said. “It makes me happy, too. I want a shiny Sylveon, because she’s got the trans flag colors and so does her shiny.”

“Oh, neat,” Hartley said. There’s a pause. “What’s a Sylveon?”

“Oh my god, dude,” Cisco said, sitting up and scooting closer, leaning his head on Hartley’s shoulder, his breasts a soft pressure on Hartley’s skin. “Here, look. Haven’t you ever played?”

Hartley blinked. “No. I wasn’t allowed.”

“ _What?_ ” Cisco said. “Well. Look at her, she’s beautiful. I named her Marsha P. She’s my pride and joy.”

Hartley squinted at the pink-eared rabbit-fox-cat creature on the screen, adjusting his glasses. “She is cute. I like her.”

He picked up Cisco’s DS, flipping through the rest of his team. Cisco reached up. “No, wait a sec—“

Hartley stared down at the Pokemon bearing his name, brows raised. Cisco whined, grabbing for his DS. Hartley handed it back with a smile. “Cute. Who’s this one?”

“He’s a Persian,” Cisco said. “He’s my shiny hunter, ‘cause he knows False Swipe and Hone Claws, so I know he won’t knock a Pokemon out when I’m trying to catch it.”

“Oh,” Hartley said. “Well. He’s very cute.”

“He is!” Cisco said. “You know, if you want to play, I have a spare DS for trades. You could totally borrow it, and one of my games?”

Hartley considered. “We’re busy engineers, you know.”

Cisco nodded, shoulders slumping. Hartley leaned forward with a huff, pecking the top of Cisco’s head. “Well. If you can find time, I suppose I can as well. It’s a good substitute for having friends.”

“I’m sorry,” Cisco said, his voice tiny. “I was mean. I didn’t realize—“

“It’s okay,” Hartley said. “It wasn’t like I wasn’t mean back. And besides, I don’t need friends. I have—“

He fell silent. Cisco blinked. “Have what?”

“Oh,” Hartley said. “Well. You’re here right now, aren’t you?”

“ _Oh,”_ Cisco said, putting a hand to his mouth. “Wow. Okay.”

He buried his face in Hartley’s shoulder and grinned. Hartley ruffled Cisco’s hair, stroking it, fond.

“If it makes you feel better,” Cisco said, “my Pokemon were my friends growing up. So I don’t think it’s dumb or anything.”

“Thank you,” Hartley said. “May I try?”

Cisco hesitated. His DS was pure, having been untouched by no other human hands beside himself. No one had even held it to look at it before today. And he passed it onto Hartley with a, “Yeah, go ahead, but be careful.”

Cisco turned the television on while Hartley played, flipping channels. “Can we watch cartoons?”

“Yeah, okay,” Hartley said. “Cisco? How do I move around?”

“D-pad, dude, that little cross-shaped thing.”

“Oh, okay.”

There was a long, peaceful silence.

“Cisco? Why isn’t this attack working?”

“It’s a Normal-type attack, dude,” Cisco yawned. “That’s a Ghost type. Try using Bite instead.”

“Oh, that worked really well!”

Cisco hummed. “Damn right.”

The hours whiled by, and Cisco switched from _Steven Universe_ to _The Amazing World of Gumball_ to the nightly news for awhile, before switching to a classic movies channel, watching something in black and white he didn’t recognize but Hartley hummed in pleasure at seeing, so he kept it on the screen.

“Cisco?”

“Mm?” Cisco blinked, rubbing at his eyes. “You should sleep, dude. Thing’s gonna run out of battery soon.”

“Oh, sure, but I have a question,” Hartley said, proffering his DS back at Cisco. “This one looks different. Is there a—“

“Oh my _god,”_ Cisco squealed, scrambling upright in bed and grabbing the DS. “You did it! It’s a shiny Eevee! You did it! Oh my god—“

He kissed Hartley full on the mouth and beamed, taking the DS and sitting down. “Nickname?”

“Um,” Hartley said. “That was. A lot.”

“Dude, I am _so_ excited, you did so well for me dude, I’m so glad, oh my god—“ Cisco furrowed his brow. He reached up to tuck his hair back, but Hartley’s fingers beat him to it, so he just wound their fingers together and closed his eyes. “Um…”

“Storme,” Hartley said. “Like Storme DeLarverie?”

“Perfect,” Cisco said. “Oh my god, I have been trying for _weeks_ dude I am so excited—“

He kissed Hartley’s cheeks, quick little pecks, and then lightly on the mouth. “I’m so happy, oh my god—“

“Save your game,” Hartley said firmly, taking off his glasses and putting them aside on his nightstand. “And then I think we should go to sleep.”

“Easy for you to say, you don’t know what a big deal this is,” Cisco said, but he saved and shut his DS off anyway, climbing into Hartley’s lap and snuggling close. Hartley held him up, his arms wrapped around Cisco as he curled up and closed his eyes.

“I know this probably isn’t comfortable, but…it’s nice,” Cisco said. “I feel really good right now. Can we stay like this?”

“Of course,” Hartley said, leaning back, his head and shoulders pressed against the cool wall. “I just…never thought.”

“Never thought what?”

“That I’d get to do this,” Hartley said. “I only ever saw people like us in bed if we were fucking. Or dying.”

“Yeah,” Cisco said, leaning his head on Hartley’s chest. “Yeah. I know.”

Hartley held him a little tighter. Cars rushed on outside their window, light falling in irregular heartbeats across the pale wall. Outside, a dog barked, and Hartley lifted his head. “I’ve been thinking about getting a pet, actually.”

“Really?” Cisco mumbled. “I really like cats, you know.”

Hartley nodded, rubbing circles along Cisco’s stomach, pressing lightly on his soft, chubby tummy. Cisco hummed. “Keep doing that. The pressure’s nice.”

Hartley nodded, playing his fingers along Cisco’s warm body, pressure weighing on his skin, making Cisco snuggle even closer, draping his arms over Hartley’s shoulders, leaning his head against Hartley’s neck, nibbling at the expanse of skin his lips could reach.

“Are we actually going to sleep at any point, or just do this all night?” Hartley said. It had been meant as a joke, but his words were weighed down with emotion, a heavy, expectant question, his eyes gleaming, eager.

“We should at least get comfy,” Cisco said, “I feel bad seeing you all propped up like that.”

“Okay, scoot,” Hartley said, nudging Cisco to the side and laying down, Cisco wriggling against him, a spoon firmly slotted against Hartley’s body. Hartley hummed, burying his face into Cisco’s soft, dark hair, inhaling with a shiver. Cisco squirmed and grinned, stretching out so Hartley could hitch both his arms around Cisco’s waist, just under his breasts, and pull him in closer.

They laid like that for awhile, Hartley tapping his fingers along Cisco’s stomach and chest, applying occasional pressure and sometimes just stroking with soft fingertips until Cisco tilted his head back and asked, “Dude? Can we switch places?”

“Huh?”

“I want to hold you,” Cisco said. “You okay with that?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Cisco said. “Scoot.”

Hartley nodded, rolling over and feeling Cisco latch onto him immediately afterwards, his body warm and soft, his breasts a comforting weight against Hartley’s back.

“I’ll stay here,” Cisco promised, pressing kisses to the nape of Hartley’s neck, “until you fall asleep. And I’m not going to stop kissing you, okay?”

“Okay,” Hartley said. “Sounds good. Sounds perfect.”

Cisco was as good as his word, pressing sweet, soft kisses against Hartley’s neck and between his shoulders, pure and sweet as falling snow, drifting over Hartley as he drifted off.

Cisco snuggled a little closer when he felt Hartley’s breathing shift and slow down, laying his head against the pillow and breathing the smell in. It was the only thing in the whole apartment that smelled like Hartley, save for the man himself; champagne and cider, and rich musky earth. Cisco closed his eyes.

 _I could get used to this bed,_ he thought, and the idea settled in just as comfortably under the covers as he did, the last thing he thought of before he slept.

…

Hartley was the first one to wake up the next morning, Cisco’s hair sliding over his shoulder as he shifted and mewled in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath. Hartley’s heart trilled again, popping candy bursting into little fireworks of delight, his veins prickling with new hope for these feelings. They could last forever; they could last only until Cisco woke up, and he would still feel whole, and clean.

Hartley didn’t want to wake Cisco by moving, so he didn’t. It was enough to know he was there for now, his sweet, milky morning breath skittering over Hartley’s skin as a reminder. His fingers flexed every so often in his sleep, squeezing Hartley a little more.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the world going on outside, and noted with quiet clarity that it had not, in fact, fallen apart. There was no Sodom and Gomorrah in the safety of this bed. The sunlight shone over the sheets, bathing them in pure, warm light. When Cisco stirred, Hartley turned around and found him safe and sound and alive, no pillar of salt to be seen. Cisco’s eyelids fluttered, waking up by degrees. He brightened up the second he saw Hartley, grinning just a little, sleepy and satisfied.

“Morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Hartley admitted. “Yeah, I did, actually, I—“

He rubbed the side of his face. “I slept so well I don’t want to wake up. If you’re not doing anything today.”

“We-ell,” Cisco considered, “we are engineers working on a project to transform humanity and stuff.”

Hartley made a face.

“But,” Cisco amended, “I’m like fifty more Pokemon away from completing a living Pokedex. So. Maybe let’s just go in a little late.”

Hartley grinned, big and broad, kissing his forehead. Cisco rolled over and grabbed his DS before curling up back in the safety of Hartley’s embrace, sighing in pleasure. “You feel any better now?”

“A little,” Hartley agreed. “Come here. I want to—“

He reached up and tucked Cisco’s hair behind his ear, soft and fond, his fingers stroking the curls lightly. “I’ll put some coffee on, and we can take our time.”

“Am I ever gonna be able to fiddle with my own hair again?” Cisco teased, his face lit up with a new smile. Hartley pecked him lightly on the mouth.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” he said, getting out of bed.

He was brief and quick, brewing two cups of coffee hastily before returning to find Cisco having reclaimed Hartley’s side of the bed for himself, sprawled out and hatching new eggs. Hartley set the coffees down and laid back down beside him, closing his eyes. Cisco reached out with his free hand and trailed his fingers up Hartley’s tummy, drumming his fingers on his chest.

“This is so good,” Cisco yawned. “You know that? I mean. This is super weird. But super good. I wasn’t expecting this, though? Like, at all. I thought you were the world’s biggest jerk two days ago. And now I just…really like you.”

“But are you happy?” Hartley said.

“Totally,” Cisco said. “Why, are you?”

“Better than happy,” Hartley said, getting up so he could lean over him, winding his fingers in Cisco’s hair, “I think I’m in love.”

Cisco blinked, wide-eyed. “Oh.”

“I mean,” Hartley said, “I had to—I wanted to say it. I just—I needed to feel like this? This is good. That these are the right words, the pure ones, the good ones. And—and I want to use them now. They’re my words too. And I want to say them to you. Just you.”

Cisco nodded, picking Hartley’s glasses up off the nightstand and putting them on, running his fingers through Hartley’s short hair.

“Well,” he said, “then I’m listening.”

 


End file.
